Roku Week 2025

by ryunosuvke

Summary:

Roku Week 2025!

Notes:

The prompts for the week are:
Day 1: Sparring | Yasu
Day 2: Diplomat | Parent
Day 3: Agni Kai | AU
Day 4: First/Last Meeting | Teacher
Day 5: Kyoshi | Dragons
Day 6: Rokrew (Team Avatar) | Intimacy
Day 7: Travel | Free Day

Chapter 1: Day 1: Yasu

Notes:

Day 1: Sparring | Yasu

He'd been sitting at his desk for who knows how long when the knock sounded. The person on the other end didn't wait for a response before coming in; he didn't need an invitation. Roku would always let his brother in no matter what.

Yasu had gone out with Prince Sozin again, the offer was extended to Roku, but he chose to stay behind. It's not that he didn't enjoy their company, but they'd been spending more and more time without him recently. He couldn't be left out if he didn't go. But that meant he was alone either way. He didn't really have any other friends. At at least, not close ones

He wasn't as outgoing as Yasu, couldn't make friends as easily as he could, or get people to like him. Yasu was a people person; Roku was a himself person. 

A small tray of steamed pork buns was placed next to his book, diverting his attention. He’d been rereading the same three pages since he retired to his room. He recognized the smell of the seasoning  —they were from Mr. Wei’s shop; his favorite.

“Didn't think you'd eaten,” Yasu said, leaning against the desk like it was the most natural thing in the world. He was never awkward where he stood, not like Roku. “You always read when you’re hungry.”

Roku blinked at the tray, then glanced up at his brother. “You went all the way down to South Market?”

“Well, I didn’t. Sozin’s guards did. I just gave them directions and smiled.” Yasu grinned, then nudged the tray closer. “But I made sure they got the ones with the scallion oil you like.”

Roku muttered a thanks and took one, peeling back the paper bottom. The bun was still warm, the steam soft against his fingers. He didn’t bite in right away.

Yasu turned and leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk, his tone lighter now. “So what are you reading this time? Another dry tome on Fire Nation legal history?”

Roku raised a brow. “It's the Avatar biographies. I’m rereading the entries on Kuruk.”

Yasu whistled. “Kuruk? Really? He’s barely got any entries.”

“That’s why I’m rereading. There has to be more between the lines.”

Yasu tilted his head, watching him for a moment. “Sozin said something like that. About Kyoshi, though. He thinks we don’t talk about her enough in lessons.”

Roku didn’t answer. He nibbled a corner of the bun instead, chewing slowly, eyes back on the page though he wasn’t reading.

After a pause, Yasu went quieter. “You know you didn’t have to stay behind today.”

“I wanted to.”

“You sure?”

Roku’s jaw tightened just slightly. He set the bun down, half-eaten, and looked toward the window instead of his brother. “You two have been hanging out a lot lately.”

Yasu didn’t deny it. “He likes your company too, you know.”

“I don’t really fit.”

“Says who? You?” Yasu’s voice was still soft, but something in it sharpened just enough to make Roku look back. “You’ve been... pulling back. Not just from Sozin. From me, too."

Roku’s throat bobbed, but he said nothing.

“I get needing space. I do,” Yasu continued. “But if you’re shutting people out because you think you’re not enough for them, that’s different. And it’s not true.”

The silence stretched between them again. Then, slowly, Roku reached for the bun.

“I just feel... like I’m always a little behind you. Of Sozin. Of everyone.”

Yasu didn’t rush to answer. He only reached forward and broke off a piece of bun for himself.

“Then maybe we’re running too fast,” he said simply. “Doesn’t mean I want to leave you behind.”

Roku didn’t answer right away. He tore off another piece of the bun, slower this time, more mindful. The warmth from the food spread through his hands, grounding him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

 Yasu leaned back slightly, giving him space. The silence between them wasn’t awkward anymore — just soft, thoughtful.

After a while, Yasu spoke again. “You know, Master Fong’s pairing us off for sparring tomorrow morning.”

That earned a look from Roku. “Already? We just finished forms week.”

“Yeah, well. I think he’s bored of us blocking imaginary opponents. Wants to see if we can actually take a hit.”

Roku gave a faint, reluctant smile. “You mean you want to show off.”

Yasu shrugged, too smug to deny it. “I mean… I am undefeated.”

“In class. That’s different.”

Yasu snorted. “Sure, sure. Anyway,” he went on, drawing out the word, “he asked if we had any pairing requests. I said I’d go with you.”

Roku blinked. “Why?”

Yasu looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Because you’re good?”

“That’s not—” Roku stopped, searching for the right words. “You could spar with anyone. You don’t need to be stuck with me just cause we’re twins.”

“I’m not stuck with you.” Yasu’s voice firmed just a little. “I’m picking you. That’s different.”

Roku looked down again, this time at his hands, now resting on the edge of the tray. A bit of flour dusted his knuckles.

“I haven’t been practicing as much lately.” There was a prickle of shame to his voice. 

Yasu nodded. “I know. That’s part of why I asked.”

Roku’s brow furrowed, but not in annoyance — more like confusion.

“I thought maybe,” Yasu continued, “getting back into it might help. You used to like sparring. You always said it clears your head better than meditation.”

“Because I actually have to move.”

“Exactly. So come on; move.”

Roku exhaled slowly. He wasn’t sure if it was guilt, or relief, or something else that was tightening in his chest — but Yasu wasn’t pressuring him. Just offering. Steady. Present.

“…Alright,” he said finally. “I’ll spar with you.”

Yasu smiled. “Great. Just don’t complain when I win.”

“I’ll win the rematch then.”

“That’s the spirit.” Yasu stood, stretching a little. “I’m headed to the baths before lights-out. You coming?”

“In a bit.”

Yasu hesitated, then nodded. He tapped two fingers against the desk — his usual little farewell when words felt too heavy — and slipped out the door, leaving the smell of scallions and the faint echo of his footsteps in his wake.

Roku sat a little longer, quietly. Then, he turned the page.

Chapter 2: Day 2: Parent

Notes:

Day 2: Diplomat | Parent

This one’s real short but there’s a heatwave going on rn & I was too tired to function 🥀

Roku learned early on in life that their parents regarded him & Yasu in two completely different lenses. Yasu was the elder — the perfect son — and Roku was the younger — the less than average son. It hurt, until it didn’t. Until he learned to just suck it up.

His parents weren’t ever going to love him. 

 

---

 

As he stared down at his daughter’s tiny face, he wondered how they could even stomach it.

Rina was small, smaller than any baby he’d ever seen. But she was perfect. 

He couldn’t imagine ever subjecting her to  what his parents had put him through. It made him feel sick just to think about. How could they neglect their own child like that? Make him feel like he'd never amount to anything.

The thought made him clutch her closer, causing her to let out a little gurgle in her peaceful sleep. The sound brought a smile to his lips.

Rina wasn’t going to ever feel like that. He’d make sure of it. Ta Min would make sure of it. She was going to be love and cared for — never made to feel like she’ll always be second-best to her own parents. To anyone. 

She won’t grow up feeling like he did. 

Chapter 3: Day 3: Agni

Notes:

Day 3: Agni Kai | AU

So at the time when this was written, I could've sworn the prompt was just Agni and not Agni Kai, but looking through the tumblr tag this is not the case lmao. This whole chapter is literally just my self indulgent headcanon of what I imagine the Sun Spirit Agni to be with small aspects of the real life god

I was half asleep when I wrote the final bits so if anything looks wrong please lemme know 😭

Every morning at dawn, Roku performed a little ritual. He’d been doing it since he was a child, but he could never pinpoint when he started it exactly.

Even now as he was studying airbending at the Southern Air Temple, his ritual never stopped.

Every morning after getting dressed, right before he’d start his day; he would lay out an array of offerings to Agni. He’d kneel in front of the three-level display stand — a gift from some uncle on his mother’s side one birthday — and neatly arrange the different offerings for each Aspect of the Spirit.

The bottom level was reserved for Fire — Agni’s power in the mortal world. There he placed lit red taper candles, a delicately crafted origami phoenix he’d folded, a small pouch of fire flakes and a little vase of fire lilies.

The middle level was reserved for Lightning — Agni’s gift from the sky. He placed polished black obsidian arranged in neat order, next to a tray holding a slowly burning journal page he’d written — which spoke of his frustrations & doubts  — and beside it a small bowl of clear water he collected from the fountains; there were clary sage petals mixed in.

And on the top level, the Sun — Agni himself. There he placed two dragon-bird incense holders facing in opposite directions, in between them a plate with a warm lemon cake garnished with saffron.

 

He sat back on heels, proud of his display, even though it looked the same every morning.

Then, as the Sun breached the horizon for the new day, he would turn towards it with cupped hands, a small flame flickering inside, and pray:

 

“Agni, Spirit of the Sun, light my day.

You rise in golden silence; I offer my breath.

Your warmth wakes the fire in all things—

In the sky, in the earth, in the heart.

May I carry your light in my words.

May I carry your strength in my hands.

May I carry your will in my spirit.

I thank you for the flame that cooks,

The sun that burns,

The breath that lives,

The life that grows.

Guide me with your fire.

Steady me with your light.

Return to me tomorrow.

Agni, Spirit of the Sun, light my day.”

 

He blew his flame out softly. His ritual complete. Now he needed to get finished up for breakfast—

“Do you do that every day?”

“Gah!” He flinched, almost twisting himself onto the ground in his haste to turn around. 

Gyatso stood in the doorway, already dressed in his day robes, staring at him with a tilted head. How long had he been standing there? Stupid little airbender with his stupid little twinkletoes—

“Yeah.” He found himself answering, his voice cracking slightly. He was a bit embarrassed, no one had ever witnessed his little morning ritual. No one except Yasu. "I have since I was a kid."

Gyatso hummed, stepping into the room more. His eyes were fixated on Roku’s display with a sort of childlike wonder, the kind one got when they didn’t understand something in it's entirety. 

“What’s it all mean?”

“What?”

“The offerings." he pointed. "What do they all mean?”

“Oh.” Roku was dumbfounded for a moment, he’d never been asked to explain anything relating to Agni. More often it was people — mostly his father — trying to teach him. But Gyatso wasn’t a Fire National, he was an Air Nomad. He might not know about the spiritual concepts and weight to worship. Or he was just pretending to be an idiot. Both were equally plausible with him. 

But Roku had an inkling it was the latter. 

“Well, uhm, are you aware of Agni’s aspects?”

“Yeah.” The young airbender sounded almost offended. “He's said to exist in three levels of power; Fire, Lightning and the Sun."

“Right, well the offerings relate to each of them. Uh, obviously. For instance,” he turned back around, gesturing to the bottom level. His voice was steady as pointed to each item.

“The red of the candles is meant to represent our nation, while the flame is our bending. The phoenix is for renewal; fire can be destructive but once the destruction has passed, new growth will be able to flourish. Like a cycle of rebirth. The fire lilies symbolize our nation’s passion and honour as the national flower. Fire is ingrained in ourselves so the offerings to it must be reflective of our nation.” 

“And the fire flakes?“ There was a hint of teasing in the younger boy’s voice as he kneeled beside him.

Roku went red, embarrassment flooding his being as he muttered, “Sozin told me years ago that they were Agni’s favourite treat. So I just started including them.”

Gyatso snickered, which morphed into a full blown laugh, though he at least had the decency to try and smother it. Roku punched his shoulder; lightly, of course.

He returned his gaze to his display, gesturing to the second level.

“All of Lightning’s offerings deal with clarity. The ability to see & understand what it is that you want.” his voice grew more confident as he spoke, all previous hesitation disappeared. “The obsidian is believed to help with emotional blocks and deal with negative energies in the body. The burning poem is a symbolic way of letting go of negative emotions, allowing for a clear state of mind. The clear water represents seeing things clearly, while the petals are meant to represent opening one’s eyes.”

Gyatso was silent but he didn't look bored. He actually looked quite interested in what Roku was saying; some that he was still getting used to these days. People actually listened to him here, not just as the Avatar but as a person. 

“The third level is all about Agni, the Sun. The dragon-bird spirits are his messengers — one points to the East; the other to the West to symbolize his trip in the sky. The lemon cake is meant to be a symbolic gesture of energy. I think.."

“You think?”

“Shush.” He put a finger to the younger boy’s mouth. The little shit licked it.

He got another punch for it. 

 

---

 

Sister Disha didn’t ask about their roughed-up appearances at breakfast. She just muttered something about unruly young boys under her breath to one of the older Monks. 

Later, when they were playing a game of Pai Sho in their downtime. Gyatso brought it up quietly. 

“Can I join you tomorrow?”

Roku looked up from the board, surprise taking over his features. But he found the answer easily. 

“Of course you can."

Chapter 4: Day 4: Teacher

Notes:

Day 4: First/Last Meeting | Teacher

Originally I was going to do First/Last Meeting but when I began writing I switched over to Teacher instead lmao.

Hope the wording doesn’t sound confusing, I’m dumb as a brick & can’t sound philosophical 🥀

Roku stood at the edge of the high stone outcrop, eyes narrowed at the misty expanse of open sky before him. Below, the slopes of the Southern Air Temple dropped into endless nothing, with the wind howling between the cliffs like it was hungry for foolish students.

He shuffled a few paces back. His hands fisted in his robes; a nervous tick.

“I still don’t think this is a good idea.”

Sister Disha didn’t reply right away. She simply handed him the glider staff with both hands, the long polished wood already warm from the sun.

“You’ve been trained not to fall,” she said calmly. “But airbending isn’t about control. It’s about trust.”

Roku blinked. “Trust in what?”

She smiled. “The air. Yourself. Me.”

“I can bend the air just fine. It’s the jumping off cliffs part I’m struggling with.”

Disha chuckled, a quiet, breezy thing, like the whisper of silk robes.

“You’ll be fine. If not, the bison are trained to catch flailing students.”

“That’s not comforting.”

Without another word, she stepped off the cliff herself, opening her glider midair with the smooth confidence of years. The saffron-orange wings caught the light like a flame. She coasted in a lazy arc before circling back, hovering just out of reach.

Roku stared. “She’s enjoying this,” he muttered.

Then he took a breath. A deep one.

He’d faced tougher trials than this. Firebending duels, spiritual tests, even his first meditation session with Master Tashi (which felt like three hours of failure compressed into one). But somehow, this felt more terrifying than any of them.

He didn’t think; just broke out into a short run.

At the edge, for half a heartbeat, there was silence.

Then the wind roared.

The glider snapped open with a whoosh, catching the updraft — but not before Roku tipped wildly to the side, spiraling off course like a thrown scroll. He shouted something un-Avatar-like as he plummeted briefly, the winds of the glider rattling. He tried to bend the air beneath him in an effort to save himself. It puffed up like a badly aimed cushion.

Somewhere in the sky, Disha whistled. “You’re overthinking!”

“ I’m falling!”

She darted beside him with impossible ease, dipping into a spiral. “You’re fighting the air. Flow with it. Let it carry you.”

“Flow with it?! It’s trying to kill me!”

But even so, her words won over. He stopped resisting, letting his body go limp, and tilted the glider gently with the shift of his hands.

Suddenly, the wind stopped being an enemy.

It became a dance partner.

Roku glided. Awkwardly, crookedly, but undeniably, he glided.

They circled once, twice. A flock of winged lemurs darted past, chittering with delight at the new airbender in the sky.

It still wasn’t perfect. At one point a harsh wind knocked him off course, he almost crashed into Ceba, one of the elderly sky bison. As well as his companion, Monk Norbu; the old man had a few select choice words for him about that.

When they finally landed — more of a stumble than a landing — Roku hit the ground rolling. He groaned, clutching his stomach; gliding certainly made him nauseous.

“That was horrible.”

Disha landed lightly beside him, brushing her robes smooth.

He glared up at her. “I’m never doing that again.”

“You will. Every morning. Until your body forgets what fear is.” She offered him a hand. “Now, up. We’re not done just yet.”

He groaned again. This was going to be a long lesson.

 

---

 

The air smelled faintly of steamed barley, sweet root vegetables, and smoke from the temple’s kitchen fires. Roku sat cross-legged at the low table, still in his robes — now slightly torn at the knees from his elegant landings. His glider leaned against the wall behind him like a smug reminder. 

Sister Disha sat across from him, spooning broth into her bowl with deliberate, graceful movements. She hadn’t said much since their return to the Temple, simply directing him to bathe and join her when he was ready.

Now, the silence stretched between them like a taut string.

Roku stirred his rice aimlessly. “You know, in the Fire Nation, we usually reward people for not throwing themselves off cliffs.”

Disha’s lips curved upward. “And in the Air Temples, we reward those who survive it with dinner.”

He made a noise halfway between a laugh and a groan. “My reward tastes like boiled grass.”

She glanced at his bowl, where a suspicious green muck lay. “That is boiled grass.”

“…Oh.” He couldn’t tell if she was being serious or just messing with him.

Disha took a long sip of her broth before she spoke again. “You did well today.”

Roku raised an eyebrow. “I nearly crashed into a bison.”

As well as a few monks, a couple of trees, some rocks; practically the whole mountainside in just a short hour. 

"Nearly ,” she echoed, amused. “But you didn’t.”

He poked at a dumpling. “I just wish I didn’t always feel so clumsy here. It feels like the wind is playing against me.”

Disha set her bowl down gently. Her tone shifted, softer. “The wind isn’t your enemy, Roku. It doesn’t test you out of cruelty. It moves as it must. Our job is to move with it.”

He looked up, his face pulled into a pout. “And what if I never move like you do?”

“Then you’ll move like you do.” She tilted her head. “The Avatar doesn’t need to master every style the same way his teachers do.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but paused. That answer — so simple, so obvious — landed heavier than epected even after the hundredth time she'd said it. His teachers back home were always adament that everything he learned was copied to a tee; but here, that didn't matter. Only his skills. 

“…I keep forgetting that.”

“Good,” she said with a small smile. “Because forgetting allows you to begin again.”

He stared at her. “Was that supposed to make sense?”

“Not immediately.” She took another dumpling. “You’ll understand it the next time you fall.”

He exhaled slowly, then looked down at his bowl, more thoughtful now. “When I was younger, people used to say that Fire was the most dangerous element. That we had to learn control or be consumed by it. I thought mastering the other elements would be like… conquering them. Taming them.”

Disha was quiet.

He continued, eyes on his food. “But the wind doesn’t want to be tamed.”

“No,” she said gently. “And it doesn’t need to be.”

Another pause, this one not awkward—just peaceful.

Then Roku sighed. “Do I really have to jump again tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

He gave her a deadpan look. “I hate it here.”

“You don’t.”

He didn’t. But he didn’t admit it either.

Instead, he took a bite of his — potential — boiled grass with a resigned sigh. “It still tastes like sadness.”

Disha, serene as ever, raised her bowl in mock toast. “Then chew slowly. Sadness is better digested with patience.”

Roku made a face. But he chewed.

 

…

 

“Okay, but is this actually grass?”

Chapter 5: Day 5: Kyoshi

Notes:

Day 5: Kyoshi | Dragons

The steam curled slowly from the rim of the porcelain cup.

Roku cradled it in both hands, fingers long and careful, like he feared it might vanish. A breeze passed, stirring the spirit-grass and making the lanterns tremble faintly in their glass shells. He watched them for a moment. Then, quietly, he exhaled.

Across from him, Kyoshi was already sipping.

They sat in a garden suspended above nothing. A flat plane of stone, carved with lotus reliefs, jutted out into an endless, mist-colored void. Ghostly cherry trees bloomed along the edges, their blossoms falling into the air and never quite landing.

Kyoshi set down her cup. “You’re quiet.”

“There’s not much to talk about when you’re dead.” Roku murmured.

“I didn’t think you believed in sentimentalities.”

“I didn’t. Not until I died.”

A faint smirk tugged at her lips — barely there, gone as quickly as it came. She reached for the teapot, a plain black-lacquered thing that steamed gently on its own, and poured more into her cup. “They all think they’re different, you know. Every one of us. Until we’re here. Spending eternity with one another can really bring out some truths in a person.”

He didn’t reply immediately. He watched the steam rise between them like incense, and thought of Sozin. Thought of dragons. Thought of fire he couldn’t put out.

“I failed them,” he said softly.

Kyoshi didn’t move. Her eyes, that unblinking green, watched him the way a mountain watches the sky.

“I tried peace. I tried mercy. I gave him every chance,” Roku went on, voice low. “And the world paid the price.”

“You speak like that makes you unique.”

He looked up.

“I tried justice,” Kyoshi said simply. “I tried wrath. And still the world bled.” She reached for her cup again. “You didn’t fail because you were merciful. And I didn’t succeed because I wasn’t. No Avatar is perfect; we’re just simply humans.”

Roku leaned back slightly, resting one hand on the smooth stone floor. The steam between them rose in lazy ribbons, and he traced it with his eyes. Anywhere but her face.

“I should’ve seen it sooner,” he said. “Sozin… he was already too far gone by the time I stood against him. Maybe from the very beginning.”

Kyoshi made a low sound in her throat — something between a hum and a scoff. “You think too much of yourself.”

That earned a flicker of offense in his gaze. But before he could speak, she clarified.

“You think you were the only obstacle between peace and destruction. That if you’d just moved sooner, or been harsher, the world wouldn’t have burned. As if Sozin needed permission.”

She reached for the teapot again, turning it in her hand like she might find some great truth at the bottom of the leaves.

“I’ve met men like him,” she continued. “You could’ve raised mountains in his path. He’d have built bridges. You could’ve shattered his armies — he’d have rallied more. Some men aren’t changed by kindness or warnings. Some only change the world to suit themselves.”

Roku said nothing. But the set of his jaw softened.

Kyoshi met his eyes.

“You could’ve tried with all your might,” she said quietly, “and he still would have done it.”

Silence settled like falling ash.

She poured him more tea. He didn’t ask for it, but he accepted it with a small nod.

“You were not weak, Roku,” she added. “You were good. That’s what you don’t understand.”

His hands stilled around the warm cup. His throat worked, but no words came.

Kyoshi looked away, toward the edge of the stone garden. One cherry blossom detached itself from the branch above them and drifted outward into the mist, glowing faintly pink in the pale light.

“Goodness doesn’t always win,” she said. “But it matters. Even when it doesn’t.”

Roku breathed in slowly through his nose. The tea steamed up to meet him.

He stared into his cup. “You make it sound so simple.”

Kyoshi shook her head. “It wasn’t. I just made peace with the pain of it sooner than you.”

“How?”

She let the silence speak for her. Some things didn’t have easy answers.

The petals drifted between them, pale and slow. Roku watched one land in his tea.

Chapter 6: Day 6: Intimacy

Notes:

Day 6: Rokrew (Team Avatar) | Intimacy

Intimacy —  close familiarity or friendship; closeness.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Roku couldn’t ever recall a time when either of his parents had touched him kindly.

His mother’s pinches were sudden, sharp enough to sting through the nerves, the kind of punishment that echoed louder than words. It would come the day he stuttered before a Lord — some name he’d long forgotten — her fingers digging into his arm like warnings everytime.

His father’s hand landed with heavy thuds against his skull when he’d answered a question wrong on a test. The pain was brief but branded itself into the memory, a reminder that mistakes invited only pain.

He learned early that his parents’ touch meant only reprimand or disappointment.

They didn’t know him —not his favorite color, nor the taste of the sweet bread he liked, or the way his fingers danced when he sketched quietly by himself. Nothing.

Yasu and Gran were different. Gran's hands were soft when she brushed back his hair; Yasu's palms gentle when they clasped his. They saw him. Until the day they couldn’t — when Yasu was lost to the waves and Gran slipped away in her sleep — and the warmth vanished like smoke, leaving Roku with a quiet ache in the hollow where belonging should have been. Alone again.

His parents’ stinging touch only worsened after that, as if Yasu and Gran had taken the last of their warmth with them.

 

---

 

There was a time when Roku believed Sozin would be his only friend.

They did everything together; quite literally everything. Sparring matches at dawn, shared meals in the palace gardens, long conversations that stretched deep into the night.

They learned the world side by side — its rules, its histories, its quiet places only they knew. Sozin was always at his shoulder, always ready with a remark, a helping hand, a look that just said I’ve got you.

For a long time, that was enough. More than enough.

Roku used to think that if he never made another friend again, it wouldn’t matter. He already had Sozin. 

Eventually, he did make other friends — but they were very few and far between. Sozin was the one constant that remained.

 

---

 

Sister Disha would have made a great mother, Roku decided early on. He didn't think he could've asked for a better airbending teacher than her.

She was firm but gentle, never dismissive when he stumbled through his forms. Instead, she would kneel beside him, her voice steady and kind, guiding his breath, his stance, his focus. With her, failure didn’t sting. It was just apart of learning.

She didn't yell or punish him. She'd simply say, “Try again,” with a patient smile, and wait. It was a small thing, but to him it felt like a miracle.

When he grew frustrated, she didn’t dismiss his anger or confusion. Instead, she taught him how to breathe through it, how to find stillness in chaos — a lesson that stretched beyond bending.

During their travels, she would stop to speak with children, elders, and farmers, always treating each person with respect. Roku noticed how they responded to her warmth, a stark contrast to the formal, distant interactions he’d witnessed in the Fire Nation court.

In moments like those, Roku realized how different she was — not just a teacher, but a guide, a calm presence in a world that often felt cold and unforgiving.

It wasn’t long until he stopped thinking of her as just his teacher. She became a steady presence in his life — someone who knew how to make space for him, without demanding anything in return. A quiet sort of bond grew between them, shaped not by titles or duties, but by trust.

In the stillness of those moments, Roku often found himself wondering what it might have been like; to have a mother who saw him that way. A mother who met him not with judgment, but with patience and warmth.

He would’ve liked having a mother like her.

 

---

 

Gyatso was annoying at first. Always pulling pranks, telling silly jokes, and making a mess of quiet moments. Roku thought he was too loud, too carefree for someone so serious.

But slowly, that annoyance faded. Gyatso became one of the few solaces Roku found at the Southern Air Temple.

They shared a quiet understanding, a bond forged in loss. Gyatso had known what it meant to lose a sibling too, and in that shared pain, Roku found a rare comfort.

It wasn’t just the jokes or the pranks — it was the way Gyatso could look past the hurt, and simply be there.

As his years at the Southern Air Temple passed, their friendship grew beyond the boundaries of the temple walls. They trained together beneath the open skies, their laughter echoing against the mountains. Gyatso’s easy humor brought lightness to Roku’s heavy thoughts, reminding him to find joy even when the weight of destiny felt unbearable.

Gyatso was the first to remind him that it was okay to be imperfect, to stumble and fall, and that even the Avatar needed friends — not just followers or advisors. When Roku struggled with the burden of his role, it was Gyatso’s steady presence that helped him stand tall again.

In the quiet moments, they would share stories — not of power or duty, but of hopes, fears, and dreams. Gyatso listened without judgment, offering kindness where Roku had long been denied it.

Through it all, Gyatso was more than a friend: he was a brother in every way that mattered.

 

---

 

Being dead was an interesting experience.

The Spirit World stretched out before him like a vast, ever-changing tapestry. Its colors shifting like the northern lights, its air humming with quiet energy. He could explore for hours, even days, and never tire of its strange beauty.

Here, the rules of the physical world no longer applied. Time bent and swirled, and memories surfaced like drifting leaves on a gentle breeze.

But the greatest surprise was the other Avatars. They were no longer distant voices in his head, or flickering projections summoned during meditation. They were real, tangible presences who walked beside him, shared their wisdom freely, and sometimes debated quietly in the spaces between moments.

He still missed his dear wife, his daughter, everyone he’d known in his human life. That ache never truly left. But with the Avatars around him — hundreds of lives who had experienced the same trials, made the same impossible choices — it became easier to adjust. Shared memory, shared burden. One of the many invisible tethers that bound them together.

Laughter, banter, and the quiet moments in between were all he could ask for in his after-life — for eternity.

In death, he was not alone. Though he supposed in life, he'd never been alone either. 

Chapter 7: Day 7: Free Day

Notes:

Day 7: Travel | Free Day

It was only midmorning and Roku already felt... lost.

No lessons. No training. No meditations, scrollwork, or bending exercises. Sister Disha had smiled and told them, “A free day is good for the spirit.” Gyatso had nearly burst with excitement. Roku, on the other hand, blinked in quiet confusion.

“What are we supposed to do?” he asked once she was gone.

Gyatso looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Anything we want.”

“Like what?”

That was the question that stumped them both.

For all their skills in mischief, neither of them knew what to do when left to their own devices. The Southern Air Temple was quiet today, unusually so. Monks drifted through the halls in meditation or quiet prayer. Birds sang in the distance. The wind rolled lazily through the courtyards.

And Roku and Gyatso stood in the middle of it, two teenagers with too much time and no idea how to fill it.

“We could... clean the bison stables?” Roku suggested half-heartedly.

Gyatso gave him a look of betrayal. “That’s not fun, that’s work in disguise!”

“Well, then you think of something.”

Gyatso grinned and that’s when Roku knew he was in trouble.

“We should have a glider race,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Through the eastern corridors, up the spiral walk, around the garden pagoda — first one back here wins!”

Roku raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that entire path off-limits during meditation hours?”

“That’s why it’ll be a challenge,” Gyatso said, already grabbing his staff from where he'd placed it against the wall. “You’re not scared, are you, Avatar?” And then he was gone over the ledge.

“Little prick,” Roku muttered, but he followed. 

They soared through the temple grounds with echoing laughter, ducking under archways and twisting around stone columns, sending startled lemurs scrambling and prayer chimes clanging wildly. Gyatso whooped when he clipped the edge of the meditation hall roof and barely corrected in time. Roku followed close behind, his expression focusedm, but he couldn't suppress the grin tugging at his lips. The old monks yelled after them in outrage, but the boys paid them no mind.

They crash-landed — with only minimal bruising — in the courtyard, they were both breathless and disheveled.

“I won,” Gyatso gasped, sprawled across the flagstones.

“You only won because you cut across the aviary!”

“It was a creative route.”

“You nearly decapitated Abbot Dujom.”

“He should’ve moved out the way faster!”

They burst into laughter again, lying there in a heap, robes rumpled and cheeks flushed from wind and adrenaline.

 

Later, after a brief scolding from a very unimpressed Disha, they tried meditation dueling — sitting face-to-face, seeing who could go longer without scratching their nose or breaking concentration. It lasted six minutes before Roku sneezed and Gyatso declared victory with a loud cheer that echoed across the temple. 

 

By mid-afternoon, they were flat on their backs in the shade, trading nonsense stories and trying to outdo each other’s impressions of the elders.

“…and then I told him, ‘Master Lobsang, I’m not your bison!’” Gyatso wheezed through laughter.

Roku snorted. “That doesn’t even make sense, air-for-brains.”

“That’s what makes it wisdom,” Gyatso replied sagely.

Roku rolled his eyes. “You are gonna be the worst monk ever."

“Thank you.”

 

Later, as the sun dipped lower, Roku and Gyatso settled in the temple’s quiet common room, a worn Pai Sho board set between them. Sister Disha had left it there “for moments of reflection,” but the two teens had other plans.

“Alright,” Roku said, narrowing his eyes, “no cheating.”

Gyatso grinned. “No promises.”

The game began with earnest focus. But it didn’t take long for the scheming to take root. Gyatso took to pulling Roku's robe up over his head with his airbending and swiped one of his tiles, chuckling. The older boy took great offense.

“Hey!” Roku shot back, snatching two tiles from Gyatso’s side.

Gyatso gasped dramatically, pointing a finger at the boy like he'd just confessed to murder.

“You thief!” He threw a tile at the Avatar's face, leaning forward to swipe another tile. Roku chucked one back in retaliation and the war began.

Pieces clattered across the floor, and the game board looked less like a strategic battlefield and more like the battle had already taken place. Nothing left to salvage. 

By the end, neither of them could remember whose turn it was supposed to be — or even what their goal in playing the game was. They laughed as they cleand up, gathering up the scattered pieces. 

 

They ended the day on the cliffs overlooking the temple, the last light of the sun stretching gold across the water. Gyatso was quiet beside him for once.

“This was a good day,” he said, voice soft.

Roku nodded. “Yeah. I think we needed it.”

Silence fell again, but it was a comfortable one — the kind that only came with people where silence didn't feel suffocating.

“Same time next free day?” Gyatso asked eventually.

“Only if you promise not to get us chased by Sister Disha again.”

“No promises.”

Roku smiled. “Figures.”